Recapturing the Future
by Penelope Vert
Summary: When Gokudera makes a curious discovery among his future self's things, he decides to find out exactly what he's been missing out on for ten years. Gokudera x Yamamoto Will get naughty in later chapters.
1. Ch1: A Curious Discovery

**Title:** Recapturing the Future

**Spoilers:** Takes place in the setting from about chapter 137 in the manga.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or lay any claim to the conent or characters of this series - only my imagination.

**Pairing:** Gokudera x Yamamoto - **yaoi alert - you have been warned!**

**A/N:** This is my first story from this series, so I hope you like it. I can't resist this pairing! This first chapter is very short and really quite tame but sets the scene for what will become some nice, dirty action later on.

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"Uhh—"

The weak, breathy sound refused to form any coherent language but then, there were no words behind it – just blank, white shock. The same shock emptied Gokudera's head, easing the knot in his eyebrows. Nothing. He was only very vaguely aware that his cold hand was still clutching the piece of paper that had caused all this... nothingness.

When he, Tsuna and Yamamoto had found themselves trapped in the future, not three hours earlier, Gokudera had taken possession of his future self's briefcase. Upon opening it, he had only found time to be intrigued by its contents before becoming embroiled in a fight. Hint after hint teased at his mind as they travelled and fought: the G-writings, the systema C.A.I, the ancient-looking box were all a foggy mystery swimming in his head. There was one more item tugging at his curiosity: the piece of paper. Among the G-writings, there had been another, less crumpled piece of paper that he had not had a chance to inspect. _What did it say, dammit?!!_

Now, eight levels of Vongola fortressing down, the sheet was clasped between five digits, each one of them turning white at the tightening knuckles.

_I can't believe this took ten years. Don't you dare die on me now._

_Takeshi x_

The air hitched in Gokudera's lungs as the door shuddered with a loud knock and started to open. _Crap! Hide, hide, hide, HIDE!_ Adrenalin-infused panic tore him from his stunned slumber and into action as he leapt to replace the note in the briefcase, before re-knotting his eyebrows and slouching back down, his thoughts pushed to one side. _Dammit, where's the privacy in this place?_

Tsuna and Yamamoto appeared, smiling, in the doorway, only to be confronted by the usual sour-faced demeanour they had come to expect from the tenth's right-hand-man.

"Want to come and see if the food's nearly ready, Gokudera-kun?" Tsuna asked.

"It smells really good already," Yamamoto beamed, his carefree grin spread right across his face.

Gokudera peered, trying to perceive something, anything in the tall boy's smile – the tiniest micro-expression he might have missed for an entire ten years. He wasn't stupid by any means and was usually more perceptive than most but was always the last to consider himself. _Hmm, nothing unusual... wait, is that the hint of a flush?_

"G-Gokudera?" Yamamoto's voice lifted, tentatively, his eyes flitting between the floor tiles and a focus on the pale, scowling face.

_Shit, how long was I looking? Looking? – more like staring!_

"Whatever gets me more food than that stupid cow," he grumbled, his chest relaxing from the moment's tension.

With a flash of silver, the boy swept up beside the other guardians and followed them out of the door.

_Whatever this means, I'll find out..._

_

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_A/N: Ok... so it's stupidly short. Sorry. Please let me know what you think so far. I have already formulated the next chapter in my head so it shouldn't be too long now... Thanks for reading :)


	2. Ch2: A LoveHate Complex

**Title:** Recapturing the Future

**Spoilers:** Takes place in the setting from about chapter 137 in the manga.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or lay any claim to the conent or characters of this series - only my imagination.

**Pairing:** Gokudera x Yamamoto - **yaoi alert - you have been warned!**

**A/N: **This second chapter ended up longer than I expected but then, I think I did more with it than I expected... I'll stop rambling. I hope you like it - please let me know what you think :)

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Food was, as ever, a chaotic battle for supremacy and the storm guardian was gratefully occupied in jealously defending his share, allowing him little time to turn his attention to the spinning in his head. Even so, for as many morsels of food that Lambo won from him, Gokudera had a faceful of eyes flitting across Yamamoto, hoping to see something – _anything_. Anything but those stupid, dark eyes gleaming back at his best attempt at a scowl.

Now, back in his room, he wrestled his body uneasily, trying to shift the knot in his stomach without disturbing the feast in his belly. _"Takeshi x"_ burned itself into the back of his eyes as he closed them against the lights warming his face. _X is for... the tenth, right? It was from both of them. Yeah._ Nami Middle's Hurricane Bomb allowed himself a moment's respite, sheltering in the comfort of a lie before allowing reality to seep back in, once again. _Well... maybe he knew this whole time-fuck thing would happen and decided to leave the note as a great big stupid, idiotic joke. It would match his great big stupid, idiotic face and that great big stupid, idiotic manner of his._ Gokudera settled his head into the pillow and his thoughts down for the night. One lie was as good as the next – and certainly better than actually considering the possible truths. _Honestly, as if I'd die anyway, you fucking moron._

_****  
_

_Hot breaths swept across his pale shoulder and into his burning ears, inciting an electric shiver down his spine as he writhed in restrained ecstasy. The heady scent of fresh sweat and leather hung in his lungs as his eyes searched to make out the words beyond his fugged head and to find the face to whom they belonged. Finally, in the dark, the gleam of a pair of dark eyes made the stranger's presence known, just as Gokudera began to struggle for breath..._

"Hiyackurgh!" the grey-haired teen spluttered as reality hit him in the face at the same time as Lambo did.

"For fuck's sake! You retarded fucking cow!" Shock and denial spewed up and vented themselves at the broccoli monster, to release the horrors that he did not want to stomach.

"Caa...lm..." the little cow whimpered, clinging to Gokudera's face with his one free hand and struggling for purchase with the other, stuffed inside an over-sized baseball glove. Lambo's body became a fresian blur as his safety net made his best attempts to shake him off, eventually succeeding but not without returning Lambo to Yamamoto, like a patchwork missile aimed straight out the doorway. The rain guardian's senses switched straight into alert and he deftly caught Lambo, pulling him close in one smooth motion and hurling him at light speed, a home run directly back into Gokudera's angry face.

"Gaackk!" he bit out, once again, head smashing the floor where his pillow had deserted him. Lambo wisely managed to scoot off, awkwardly fumbling for his ten-year bazooka with his mismatched hands. The Italian sat up with a sudden bolt, expression fixed like a kitten contorted with fury. His dark haired comrade's concern relaxed into a wide grin as he laughed out loud, despite the risks of various curses, threats and, worse still, glares.

"Good morning," the swordsman beamed, leaning forward to reach out a hand to help Gokudera up from the floor.

"What the fuck d'you mean _good morning_? Good morning is when I'm still snoozing and that monochrome rodent is too fucking dead to come and defile my down time!" he snapped back.

Yamamoto just chuckled at the grumbles as his hand was slapped away. Seeing the man in front of him struggling to gain his footing, his feet awkward in the sheets twisted around them, he stretched out his hand again and grabbed his arm, more as an order this time. He hauled Gokudera to his feet, buffering his body only inches from his face, before returning to his semi-upright lean against the doorframe. His mouth twitched further into his grin, watching the 'damsel' fight down his anger, restraining it to the vein in his forehead and the flush in his cheeks. He turned his sleek figure away and pattered towards his own room, allowing the recent image to replay in his mind, for his own amusement. Only a shove from behind and a sharp-edged voice broke him from the moment.

"Oof," he gasped as something solid and hard slammed into his back.

"I'm not done with you yet, baseball freak!" rang in the corridor.

Yamamoto turned, hands up in defence to calm his opponent.

"Maa, Gokudera... " he tried to soothe but his voice only made matters worse.

"Don't you _maa, Gokudera_ me!" he growled, hoarse and low, "what the hell were you _doing_ playing catch with that glove puppet at this time of the morning – not to mention in _my_ room?" his voice bellowed a shockwave straight through Yamamoto's chest, whose smile wavered.

"The little guy was bored and bothering Tsuna. I guess he got a little overexcited," he forced his cheeks to lift once more, before turning to open the next door along.

The angry Mafioso wasn't done yet, though. He (rather appropriately) stormed in quick pursuit, dynamite in hand and blaze between his ears. Yamamoto was already turning back in the doorway to assess the situation behind him, when the explosion came at him, full force. He landed hard on his back, head smashing the desk in his room and Gokudera impacting his ribs with his own. There was a brief pause as each caught and held their breath. Eyes sparked, alive and vivid and...

"Gokudera-kun! Yamamoto! Are you alright?" Tsuna wailed in his usual panicked tones, the pitch and intonation of his voice a world away from the times when it really mattered to be strong.

"Yo, Tsuna!" Yamamoto predictably called from beneath his assailant.

Gokudera grappled to gain his footing before turning to his boss and reapplying his puppy-dog expression.

"No problem, Juudaime!" he chirruped. As he left the room, he offered a final glance at the rain guardian, still on the floor. "Che. You know, I really _hate_ baseball. Moron."

The tallest guardian sighed, sinking back onto his elbows, allowing his head to cradle in the dip between his shoulder blades. He exhaled a long "Takeshi" as he closed his eyes in the quiet after the storm. It was then he noticed that in his assault on the desk, something had broken free and rolled up against him. He reached behind him to retrieve it, pushing himself to sit upright as he did so. He held what appeared to be a cigar case – heavy and silver, meant only for a single, large cigar. He turned its sleek body in his hands to reveal an inscription:

_On your 20__th__ birthday._

_Congratulations on becoming a fine man._

_Dad_

Hot blood flushed into the young man's face as he remembered the father he had left somewhere in the past. The father who would be worrying now. The father who would one day give him this. It was still a heavy and solid weight from the contents, probably untouched since the day it was first opened. Looking at the lidded end, the screw-top opening had been altered somehow, with no apparent opening mechanism remaining, only a small, dark hole. Yamamoto ran his long fingers over the inscription once more before slipping the cigar case into the desk drawer, making a mental note to come back to it later on.

****

Further up the corridor, the stinging spray of an arctic shower beat down on a shaking grey head. _Idiot. He's an idiot. I'm an idiot. There's nothing there – nothing. I'm only seeing it because I'm looking for it – no, not looking for _it_, just looking for something to be there. Right, so I'm not seeing anything because there's nothing there and I'm not even looking for it. Then why can I still smell him...?_ Gokudera rinsed his mouth and spat his self-loathing into the drain between his blueing feet, determined not to return to the subject if he could help it, which he doubted he could – his brain often worked against him in that way. Closing his eyes, he let the streams of water trace down his face and over his lean, toned body, his mind wandering. One hand propped him up as he leaned his tired body against the sides, the other hand found its way to the low, hot buzzing in his groin. Slipping his fingers across the flesh, he grasped and gasped, shifting rhythm sporadically to prolong the teased erection until he could no longer restrain himself. He found a steadily quickening pace, slickened by water and pre-cum, breath hitching and steaming the walls of the rapidly heating cubicle. His mind spaced into a dizzy, elevated place, engulfed in a heady scent and lost deeply in a pair of dark brown eyes. The world closed in as his damp lungs spluttered their violent ejaculation and the muscle in his hand fell silent once again.

"SHIT!" he froze. _No... way..._

_

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So, I managed to get a little Gokudera action in this time. I'm hoping it won't be too much longer before these two get a chance to get to work on each other :)  
_


	3. Ch3: The Tension Builds

**Title:** Recapturing the Future

**Spoilers:** Takes place in the setting from about chapter 137 in the manga.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or lay any claim to the conent or characters of this series - only my imagination.

**Pairing:** Gokudera x Yamamoto - **yaoi alert - you have been warned!**

**A/N:** Ok, so this chapter turned out to be just a little bit of a tease. I hope this will make things all the more enjoyable when these two finally manage to get it on. They seem to be slipping out of character somewhat but I hope you like it all the same. Once again, all feedback is gratefully received :)

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The world closed in as his damp lungs spluttered their violent ejaculation and the muscle in his hand fell silent once again.

"SHIT!" he froze. _No... way..._

_****  
_

Training was as hard as it had ever been but nobody pushed themselves today like Gokudera and Yamamoto did. The swordsman poised and sliced and jabbed aside the sparks in his stomach and concentration. He had to stretch his self-control to stop thinking about the curious glares and the increasing snide remarks and the battle for personal space at dinner that had become so heated that Gokudera spent more time nudging him than not. A dirty smile crept across his face as he recalled the way he'd begun to move into his space just to elicit such a reaction...

The silver-haired mafioso sneezed as he sat, surrounded by annoying little boxes. The collection of cubes drifted in and out of focus as his thoughts wandered back and forth between the toughened puzzle before him and the puzzle that thrilled inside him. Staring down at the papers and scribbles strewn about, his eyes took in the chaos before fixing themselves on his hand. There, as usual, was his pride and joy: the storm guardian's ring. His chest swelled a little, the feelings of brotherhood and the bonds they shared through the trials they had overcome mixing with the pressure of what they were about to face. On his next finger along, slender and pale, sat a comparatively ugly and seemingly useless ring in the shape of a skull. The Italian sighed, pushing the doubts and the dark eyes to one side. _I'll get there. I just need to keep my thoughts in check and for that, all I need is resolve. You hear me? I will _not_ keep thinking about you!_ He clenched his fist and steadied his heart, closing his eyes to form his bright red flame of storm, a symbol of his resolve.

"Let's try opening that one again," he muttered, opening his eyes to look down and choose a box, when something caught his eye. There on his hand, emanating from the skull ring, albeit very faintly, there was a blue flame of rain.

****

In the dim light of the dojo, Yamamoto leaned back against a wood-clad pillar, legs crossed, breaths deep and long. In front of his feet lay Shigure Kintoki, reflecting a few weak rays from the opposite wall, and the confusion in Yamamoto's heart. He tilted his head forward to polish the blade in endless circles, intermittently catching sight of himself. _He's right. I do grin like an idiot. I _am_ an idiot... or, at least, I can only show him my idiot. If I try to open up anything else it'll all come out. I can't risk that – can't risk losing this. Him. _The swordsman closed his eyes and let his head fall back sharply, a dull thunk against the support. Lights swirled and twisted behind his eyelids, burning and flitting in the midst of his darkened view. Like flames. He felt like a box weapon, full of potential nobody would understand until it all came out. _How do some of those things fit in there, anyway? The pressure must be immense. Hunh. I really am a stupid box weapon. Box weapon! That's it!_ The guardian of rain leapt to his feet, returning his sword to its inactivated state before dashing straight to the lift, bedroom-bound.

The elevator creaked and trundled upward, stopping at the next floor above. As the doors slid open, Yamamoto was faced with a disgusted sneer.

"Che. I'll get the next one, thanks." Gokudera bit.

The taller man slouched forward, pinning the door open, drawing his eyes level with the Italian's own storm-green ones.

"I could wait here all day, y'know," he grinned, the faintest flicker of a tease flashing behind his eyes.

"Idiot," he shot out, eyes slitting, as he reluctantly stomped to the furthest corner of the lift. Yamamoto returned to his corner-slouch, just inside the door. His brown eyes absently traced the warped sheen across the far side of their metal box, sneaking glimpses of Gokudera into the outer edges of his peripheral vision, as far as he dared, between watching the numbers on the display screen grumble ever smaller. The air grew thick and live, breathing became tense and heavy. Each lost in his own thoughts, neither noticed their momentum had halted until a small, apologetic voice came through a small speaker by the panel of buttons.

"We are currently experiencing difficulties with our power supply. As a result, various facilities have stopped working. I am working on fixing it now, so please bear with me. Sorry for any problems this may have caused. Life will be back to normal soon!"

"WHAT the FUUCK?!" Gokudera seethed, his eyes sharp with anger beneath his knotted brows. He turned his head sharply to glare at his unwelcome company, hair flopping to frame his angry stare, ponytail flipping to exaggerate his anger. He drank in the full strength of the leaning physique, finely toned and supple, head cocked to one side with an enigmatic grin plastered beneath those dark, questioning eyes. _Heh... there's that stupid smile of his again..._ The Italian's chest betrayed him, hitching in half-suffocated excitement.

Yamamoto's throat was dry, in spite of the hard swallows he made to calm the thrill in his stomach. His long fingers fidgeted unconsciously, turning the zip of his jacket in comforting circles, only increasing his sense of anticipation.

"I am _not_ listening to you!"

The brunette tilted his head in a question. The explosives expert simply locked eyes. His body was tense and he appeared almost to smoulder, his face radiating the heated mixture of anger, embarrassment and confusion. _This is going to be a hard one to get out of. Just blow him off like you always do. Not like that! Aaargh, dammit!_ Gokudera felt like a human soldering iron. It was going to be tough not to lose face. He clenched his fists in frustration, emotions running wild, and the red and blue flames appeared once more.

"Wow, Gokudera! Your training has really got serious. How did you find out you could produce two flames? You're a pretty surprising guy!" _A pretty surprising guy? Yeah, that's smooth. Make him think you're even more of an idiot. Hang on, is that even possible?_

The memory of his dying will flame breakthrough burned in his face, the resolve that had been fuelled by the thought of his current companion. The only thing he understood was to push it all away.

"Yeah, that's right. I have got serious. Maybe it's about time you did, too. All your grinning and playing won't protect anyone on the real battlefield, least of all you. You'll just be one lanky, stupid-looking baseball idiot. Same as usual-"

Gokudera cut off mid-sentence, the pressure wave and metallic thud of a fist landing into the wall beside his head managed to draw a rare silence from him. Yamamoto bent forward to an intimidating eye-level, held within a few, small inches of the pale, cold eyes before him. His own eyes sparked but no longer with laughter, his face and skin aflame and prickling with tension.

"Is this what you want? Is this serious enough for you?" his low voice filled the void between them, threatening, entrancing. His mouth agape, Gokudera could feel the other man's hot breaths on his tongue, almost taste him. The air between them danced, their scents and senses mixing, a sweet and salty kiss hanging, unfulfilled. Yamamoto moved his face in closer, breathing the silver hair in deeply.

"How about now?" he whispered, his tongue curling just short of the shell of Gokudera's ear, eliciting an involuntary shudder.

"Thank you for your patience, everything is back to normal now. The problem has been fixed. Sorry for the trouble!" Giannini's whimpering voice came through the speaker once more as the lift resumed its trundling ascent. Eyes locked and flittered, uncertain of what to do next, uncertain of whether or not to acknowledge the past ten minutes. The doors opened and Yamamoto's grin returned.

"See you at dinner then, Gokudera," he chirped, innocently.

The grey-haired mafioso slid down the wall until he was seated on the floor. Running his hands through his hair, he closed his eyes and shuddered again, half purging, half longing. When he was sure the brunette was long gone, he got to his feet and headed to his room.

Yamamoto had already reached his room and opened the desk drawer. There, in his hand, he cradled the only memento from his future: the cigar holder. He clenched his other hand and produced a brilliant blue flame from his Vongola ring. Slowly, carefully, he placed the flame to the hole in the end of the cigar holder...

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I hope you like it so far :) Please review!


	4. Ch4: Struggles

**Title:** Recapturing the Future

**Spoilers:** Takes place in the setting from about chapter 137 in the manga.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or lay any claim to the conent or characters of this series - only my imagination.

**Pairing:** Gokudera x Yamamoto - **yaoi alert - you have been warned!**

**A/N: **Hmmm... reading back I think this chapter is a lot shorter than it felt to write. A bit gratuitous, too, maybe. Still, gratuitous isn't always bad... Not a huge amount happens but it's all important, so I hope you like it. All reviews are gratefully received (thanks to all you lovely people who've reviewed already :D). Yeah... I'll stop rambling now...

* * *

Yamamoto had already reached his room and opened the desk drawer. There, in his hand, he cradled the only memento from his future: the cigar holder. He clenched his other hand and produced a brilliant blue flame from his Vongola ring. Slowly, carefully, he placed the flame to the hole in the end of the cigar holder...

****

Yamamoto wasn't sure what he had been expecting but it was certainly more than this: an impotent _pffffffff_ with a little steam and the lid fell off. It was obviously a DIY job and nobody would be hurt by the controlled explosion. There was just one thing that didn't satisfy him – where was his weapon? With an unexpectant heart he turned his attention to the main tube of the cigar holder, tilting its open end towards his palm. This time, he got more than he bargained for. Slowly, out of the open end and into his hand slid a solitary stick of dynamite. Yamamoto choked. Looking more closely, he could see the fuse had been replaced with a thicker, stiffer one. Gripping carefully, he tugged to see if it would move. It did. Coaxing it all the way out took some time as he didn't want to damage it but some patient moments later it was out and automatically unfurling to reveal the corners of a photograph. Carefully, he unrolled it to full size and a multitude of questions and answers followed by more questions exploded inside him. There he stood, a handsome ten years older than his current self, wrapped in a tight embrace with a silver-haired man, a few inches shorter than himself: Gokudera. It was like looking in on a dream, an impossibly secret world. How likely was it for Gokudera to let himself EVER get caught on camera? Yet here he was, smiling for all the world like it could go to hell without him when he was in Yamamoto's arms. Now there was a day to come... but it would be excruciating to know just how long it took to take this picture. _If he can love me once, he can love me again. But just because it happened once doesn't mean it is certain to happen again. And if it does... how long will I have to wait? How long did I wait before?_ _Shit, my head wasn't cut out for this kind of thing... Gokudera was always the right sort of person to work it out but I obviously can't ask him. I can't ask anyone. If I start letting it out, there'll be no easy way to get it all back in. I just have to... just... try not to push it..._

He replaced the photograph and the dynamite in the cigar holder and resealed the end. Slouching down on the edge of his bed, the room was swimming with excitement and fear as he let his body drop back and hit the covers. The world that caught him was soft and welcoming, an uncomplicated sensation in stark contrast to those in his head. He craved simplicity. Closing his eyes, Yamamoto gripped his slender fingers tighter around his most treasured possession, his stomach twinging with the tiniest regret that he hadn't yet truly made it his. The shape in his hand unconsciously brought images to his head, a scent deep into his lungs. Slowly, he slipped his free hand to the waistband of his trousers and let it dive underneath, curling around the full, firm circumference of his hardened swelling. He lost all the concentration that kept his senses in the room and retreated into fantasy, fuelled by his recent encounter in the lift. This time Gokudera writhed beneath his gaze, wantonly breathing a little harder and more gasping than necessary. He shifted his hand, steadily, as he asked again, _is this serious enough for you?_

_****  
_

Gokudera opened the door to his room with a heavy heart. He couldn't help feeling the strain of disappointment at Giannini's untimely interruption. It left him not only unfulfilled but also stuck with a number of questions he could have ploughed through, unawares, had he felt the benefit of chance. No, here he was, pestered and nagged. His own brain wanted everything understood and in its place – just like solving the systema C.A.I. _Why can't I just let this be, for fuck's sake? Why do I have to understand myself at all? Can't I just, sort of... let things happen? Let what things happen, moron? _Gokudera pleaded with and chastised himself in turn, playing with confession like fire, stroking the flame but never quite tasting the heat. Eventually he pushed it aside, schlomping himself down onto the bed. His eyes played with the lines that ran across the ceiling, skipping and flowing without care or pattern, until they grew too heavy to stay open. With his feet flat on the covers, his knees formed a spike in his body like a slow heartbeat. His chest slowed to match. He reached back his hands to sweep away his hair and the few, lingering questions. His mind drifted across the last few hours, slowing down as he recalled his journey back from training. His muscles eased as Yamamoto's scent seeped into his lungs, his eyes locked on his own.

No. Not quite _all of_ his muscles eased. One muscle was very much not at ease, pressing a tight plea against his waistband. Without thinking, his hand moved on its own; a deft slip of his forefinger and thumb and the pressure decreased. A moment later and five pianist's fingers closed around his ivory ache, swollen in sympathy with his thick, heavy breaths. His heartbeat grew quicker as he teased himself, drawing shallow and deeper friction at random. He wouldn't last long this time, motioning roughly, angry at himself because this time he was giving in. He was giving in to the eyes in his head and the sweet spice in his lungs that quickened his pulse like poison. He would have it all and take nothing back until the moment was past and he could guiltily brush it aside as weakness. Once more, Yamamoto's breath whispered its gutteral, unarticulated cry, waves of heat spreading like smoke signals across Gokudera's sensitive ear. Once more, his eyes locked on, the darkness alive with the sparks that flew, unseen, between them. Once more that face came in so close it filled the soft edges of his peripheral vision, blinding him to anything but him. Every sense and sinew was steeped in Yamamoto; the hairs on his back – alive, the blood that streaked through his veins – alive, the very ridges and arches of his skin – alive with the insatiable thirst to drink in more and more, to be printed, stained with the memories of this man. Firm hands restrained his shoulders and he drew a hesitant breath as soft lips traversed the final gap to meet his own, heavy with passion, rough with beckoning demand but still sweet as hell. It was too much for the Italian to take and as his lips shook, fighting to retain the memory of Yamamoto's non-existent kiss, his body shook to release the result of the brief encounter.

The storm guardian allowed himself but a moment to catch his breath before the arguments kicked in. _Bah, what if the tenth had been in trouble while I was in here... well, indisposed? This is not the kind of right-hand-man I was aiming to become! _He scrabbled around for something to clean himself up with and his eyes flitted over the small piece of paper that had managed to distract him for a good seventy percent of his training time. Yes. The _paper_ had distracted him. _Should I just ask him? He's such a moron that he won't know what the hell I'm talking about and then when he doesn't, at least I'll know it's just a big fucking joke from the future moron._ Refusing to think beyond the conclusion of this being one big joke, Gokudera made himself look halfway respectable and, slipping the note in his pocket for luck, he left to argue the cause of, and solution to, his troubled mind.

* * *

A/N: Soooo.... I think we're at least a little step closer to some proper action :)


	5. Ch5: Running

**Title:** Recapturing the Future

**Spoilers:** Takes place in the setting from about chapter 137 in the manga.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or lay any claim to the conent or characters of this series - only my imagination.

**Pairing:** Gokudera x Yamamoto - **yaoi alert - you have been warned!**

**A/N:** Hmm... I felt a bit lost writing this chapter but having written it, I feel like I know where things will go from here. Bah, I'm frustrating myself waiting for them to get down to it! I hope it will not take _too_ much longer. Anyway, here is chapter 5, so I hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

Refusing to think beyond the conclusion of this being one big joke, Gokudera made himself look halfway respectable and, slipping the note in his pocket for luck, he left to argue the cause of, and solution to, his troubled mind.

The soft echo of Gokudera's feet padded along the hallway, marking his slow progress towards Yamamoto's room. It wasn't far away but those few moments, swollen with uncertainty, spanned the stretch of hours. He curled his fingers around the door handle, his body casting a sliver of shadow under the door. _Fuck it_. He turned on his heel to escape. His hand caught on the door frame with a crack and he broke into a run to anywhere.

In the dim light, he found himself in a dusty store room, cobwebs thick over rows of bottles and boxes. It was a lonely room, waiting for a victory that had never come and was now living on its last hope. He swept a corner free of spiders and sat himself down for a while, rereading the contents of the love-letter from his future. Examining a few of the closest bottles, he chose one at random and unscrewed the lid. The first mouthful burned, the second chastised and, finally, the third began to sympathise. The storm guardian raised a toast to the warming shadows. _To... running away! Hah! Or... whatever the fuck I want. Yeah. That's it. To whatever the fuck I might or might not be thinking or wanting or- fuck it, I should just shut up and drink._

****

Yamamoto started at the sudden noise at his door. His hand froze in situ.

"Yeah?" he called.

No answer came, just the briefest glimpse of a shadow as it slipped away, under the door.

"Gokudera?" his voice repeated the intonation of its enquiry.

Looking down, he swore as he realised that anyone he'd invited in would have caught a good eyeful of his erotic tendencies. He reordered himself, straightening out his clothes as he headed for the door. If there was the tiniest chance Gokudera had come to get angry at him, he at least wanted the chance to suss out the way things stood. Let's face it, that guy getting mad at you could mean just about anything...

He stepped out into the long, blank corridor. Turning to face the door he was closing, he opened up his ears to the pathways either side of him. Something distantly to his left caught his attention at the same time as the rough edge of the door sill. Whoever had banged into it had probably given themselves quite a deep gash, judging from the amount of blood and its depth into the frame. Yamamoto began to panic beneath his cool exterior. His heart raced with adrenalin and anxiety. He turned and started off in the direction of that brief sound he had caught moments before. He allowed the twists and turns to navigate him onwards, barely stopping to choose which paths to take until he stopped, breathless, and noticed the faintest trace of blood on his hand. _Shit! Still, it's wet so I can't be far – both in distance and time. That's something, at least._ The rain guardian retraced his steps, this time paying close attention for signs of blood. _If that door frame's anything to go by, he could have passed out by now! Not that his pride would let him... _Tearing up the distance, he searched on until something made him pause outside one door in particular. It was almost as if he could sense Gokudera's presence, feel his heartbeat thick in the air around him. Maybe it was just the trick of a shadow across the floor but whatever the reason, Yamamoto chose this door and followed his instincts inside. Keeping his eyes wide and his breathing low, his footsteps picked between the dusty crates and scattered debris of time. He quickly spotted the outline of an awkwardly slumped body, painfully craned and angled and yet somehow not affecting the comfort of its now only fractionally coherent owner. Yamamoto moved closer.

"Don't touch me, you bastard!" weakly shot at him from the ill-lit corner.

"Don't be stupid, you're bleeding."

"_You're_ stupid," he grunted back, limbs flailing in feeble protest against the mighty combination of alcohol and gravity. The darker haired man inspected the injury with a face and heart of concern. Two of those beautiful fingers were bleeding, with a good sized splinter inserted up into the looser skin, riding the dipped curve between knuckles. With nothing else available, Yamamoto lifted off his t-shirt and ripped the seam up one side. Steadying his hands as best as he could, he carefully wrapped the top around the pianist's sculptured digits, securing the splinter in place and applying pressure to stem the frantic bleeding.

"You know, twister isn't a game for one, Gokudera. I'm going to have to move you so you don't hurt yourself."

"I shaid don't toucch me! Don't make me want you, pervert! I'll fuhhhckin..." he trailed off as Yamamoto's naked shoulder muffled his mouth, reaching one arm round over his shoulder to grip his back pocket and haul him to an upright sitting position. As the more sober man's fingers slipped to release their grip, they caught hold of what felt like a piece of paper, pulling it free of its pocket. With his arms still wrapping their support around Gokudera, Yamamoto unfolded the paper and gasped as he read its contents. He didn't move. This was one of those times when quick-thinking would be incredibly useful but absolutely nothing was coming. There were no thoughts: only senses. The air between them grew hot as he realised he had been essentially 'holding' the injured Gokudera for almost a minute solid. Gokudera's short, heavy breaths fluttered against the darker shoulder in front of him. Deliriously, he let his head slump forward to rest his lips against it. His mouth moved on its own, pressing his heart right into the skin, printing the skin back onto his lips. He kissed as if he was eating Yamamoto whole. The taller man stayed still. _Mmmhhnnff! That's tooooo dangerous... I guess this is the alcohol talking then. _He drew a slow, deep breath into his lungs through the shallow gap that hung between his poised, desperate lips.

"Cold," the slouched mafioso shuddered, his body losing heat fast. He curled his uninjured fingers round Yamamoto's waistband in automatic response as his body tried to move closer to the warmth. Relaxing himself, Yamamoto pulled his head back to look at the hand he had already tried to bandage. Blood. The shirt he has wrapped around was already soaked through. Getting Gokudera comfortable was no longer a priority – he had to get him to the medical room.

"Gokudera," panic caught in Yamamoto's throat, allowing an unnaturally calm voice through. "I'm going to have to move you now, so I want you to do me a favour and _don't let go_, ok?"

"Mmmhhh," he shivered again, "I won't... if you won't," Gokudera whispered as his grip balled into a fist around the belt loops of Yamamoto's trousers.

Yamamoto lifted the slight and pained frame of the other man, easing him over his shoulder as best he could to keep the injured hand uncrushed. Standing to his full height, he paused a moment.

"Those words... don't forget them," he whispered.

Taking the first few gentle steps towards the medical room, Yamamoto felt the faintest of slumping sensations as Gokudera's breathing became dull and heavy and his body became a dead weight. He had passed out.

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A/N: Ok, so it was another stupidly short one, sorry. I hope you enjoyed it all the same. Reviews are welcome, as always. Thanks for reading :)


	6. Ch6: Not Running

**Title:** Recapturing the Future

**Spoilers:** Takes place in the setting from about chapter 137 in the manga.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or lay any claim to the conent or characters of this series - only my imagination.

**Pairing:** Gokudera x Yamamoto - **yaoi alert - you have been warned!**

**A/N:** This one is MASSIVELY overdue! Sorry to all who have been waiting for this chapter, I managed to cram several life-changing events into the past year or so. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story so far - you've all been very kind and I hope I can make this story worth the wait :)

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Yamamoto lifted the slight and pained frame of the other man, easing him over his shoulder as best he could to keep the injured hand uncrushed. Standing to his full height, he paused a moment.

"Those words... don't forget them," he whispered.

Taking the first few gentle steps towards the medical room, Yamamoto felt the faintest of slumping sensations as Gokudera's breathing became dull and heavy and his body became a dead weight. He had passed out.

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Yamamoto stood alone in the dojo, the solitary embodiment of a single emotion: despair. Waves of it crashed over his head with the arms that struck forward with his sword in a practice blow. Strike after strike tolled the ache inside that could not find another way to express itself. Yamamoto was not a thinker at the best of times; his heart was written in muscle and sweat. The perspiration ran cold as his training degenerated into raw pacing, aimless and unsatisfied. His feet echoed the impending march of the unknown, that great journey with no destination to speak of, simply the desperation to ease the dull ache of the journey itself. Food had become the only thing that reminded him he was alive. It wasn't the hunger that growled, unfelt, but the tentative smiles of Tsuna, Haru, Kyoko... At those moments he could relax a little and remember that he didn't worry alone. Still, the food passed the lips of his empty smile, forced for the sake of the 'family', for the sake of himself, his composure, his heart...

It had been fifty-six hours since Yamamoto had brought Gokudera into the medical bay. The silver-haired invalid had been fighting infection, slipping in and out of consciousness when the decision had been made to sedate him. Looking down at his frail, still form, Yamamoto knew that despite the lack of movement, he was still fighting. There was just no way he'd give up, the stubborn git – tenacity seemed to be the only thing he knew how to get right. As for the baseball idiot, the only thing he'd known for the last two days had been a strange kind of emptiness. His stomach was empty but for the muscular fist that balled inside it; his head was empty but for the buzzing that looped inside it; his expression was empty but for the involuntary trail of his lips forming smiles to reassure the others, to deceive them and, hopefully, himself a little into his usual optimistic bubble. This time, however, it wasn't working on himself. There weren't enough smiles in the world to unknot the worry from his brows as he looked on in helpless wonder. _What if I'd got there sooner? What could I have done to avoid this? What if I hadn't pushed him so far in the lift? What if I had been able to hold onto my feelings instead of forcing them onto him?_ The answer was always the same, consistent scolding: _Gokudera would not be in this situation._

It was unbearable, the way Tsuna and Bianchi poured their thanks over him, certain he had saved "that petulent coward," as Bianchi put it. Their warm words rained upon him like shards of ice, cold and sharp, every syllable cutting with the guilt that froze his insides; he felt a pulse run through his body, even if he did not feel alive. At two thirty in the morning, the only sounds beside himself and Gokudera, were the fuzzing clicks of a dying light in the hallway outside and the low beepings and whirrings of medical equipment. Yamamoto's eyes searched the other man's face for some glimmer of hope, resting his gaze on the heavy eyelids, edged with a dark and silver flickering that toyed Yamamoto's heart swiftly between hope and despair and back again. The rain guardian allowed his tired yet restless eyes to slide down the curve of the nose beneath, taking in the full, sculptured outline of his lips, lightly parted and almost blushing. The blood swelled hot in Yamamoto's chest, overpowering his guilt with an overwhelming desire. Shifting to stand, his eyes never left those lips. Footing back the chair behind him, he leant over the storm guardian's bed-ridden body and curled his fingers around the edge of the covers, drawing them back to reveal the slow rising and falling of Gokudera's chest, carved from the only piece of living marble that Yamamoto had ever seen. His hands were nervous at the prospect of intruding, uninvited, and simply settled themselves in one place, the ridges beneath his fingers nestling in the shallow strait between his moderately defined pectorals. His stomach fluttering, the baseball idiot leaned yet further in, resting his eyes as his breath drew in his loved one's scent, his dreams. He brushed his lips, feverish from holding back, in a soft, almost imperceptible sweep across Gokudera's own, ripe and open. His head and heart lingered in the thick and dizzying air between them, a moment of pure, wanton gratification before lifting his head in time to the sound of an opening door. Fuuta.

"BIANCHI-NEE! REBORN! COME QUICKLY!" Fuuta's gentle voice held an edge of panic as he raised it and called out down the corridor. Turning his attention back to the medical bay, he hit an emergency button on the wall and dashed to the side of the bed, facing Yamamoto.

"What happened?" he asked with quite some concern.

"Takeshi-nii?"

Yamamoto's throat lumped-out and his head span over but nothing of any use came forward.

"He," he began, "I... I think he's fi-" his voice cut out to the sound of the door opening once more, this time swinging passionately wide to expose the form of Bianchi, face drawn with worry and hair tangled with sleep. Yamamoto quickly removed his hands from Gokudera's chest, hoping his actions would go unnoticed. They did not. The poison scorpion leapt into action, pumping the life out of her brother's chest in an unthinking panic. The young Italian's groaning and spluttering as he was forcibly brought-to were not enough to assuage Bianchi's fire of determination to save his life. She pumped yet harder, enough almost to kill him and revive him again, as he struggled against the remaining covers, all claws and teeth – a thrashing, human Uri. Fuuta managed to grapple Bianchi away long enough for her to calm down and rest her still-pumping arms; his efforts were accompanied by a rumbling growl.

"What the FUCK is going on here you BASTARDS? In _case_ you hadn't _noticed, _I'm _trying _not to FUCKING DIE HERE!"

The rough, crescendoing tones scraped a rebounding echo, cutting a dead silence through the chaos. Bianchi slunk back into her more usual pose, eyes flitting over the scene with an apparent casuality. Yet, she missed nothing: the anger that boiled in her brother's face, the bloom on his cheeks that he couldn't quite twist into that scowl; the guilty fear etched in place of Yamamoto's usually natural and undisturbed expression; the innocent concern in Fuuta as he tried to make her brother more comfortable in the crisp silence that followed. The grouchy patient had no strength left to fight or argue so he simply grunted his displeasure and thanks when Fuuta finally stopped fussing with his pillows. It was then that Reborn glided in, dressed in his best doctor's coat, stethoscope and moustache, perched on the unwilling shoulder of a sleepy, pyjama-clad Tsuna.

"You're awake, Gokudera-kun!" beamed Tsuna, eyes half-lidded in sleep, despite his grin.

"Of course, Juudaime! I couldn't leave you without your right-hand man!" Gokudera's puppy dog expression returned.

The whole room relaxed and everyone started breathing again. Yamamoto's grip on the sheets loosened while the burning in his head increased. His skin felt alive with a buzzing, guilty energy where he had touched the sleeping storm guardian. He kept his own eyes fixed on the sheets he had practically gripped a hole into, certain that others' eyes were resting on him, reading right through him. Questions came and went – food, drink, training, sleep. Finally, doctor's orders, Gokudera's increasingly angry face and the ungodly time of night prevailed and the idea of going back to bed was generally accepted as the next move. Being furthest away, Yamamoto was the last to make his way to the door. He flicked the light switch, pausing a moment in the ill-lit doorway to draw in a deep breath of resolve to step out of the room.

"Y'know, it's funny... the things you can dream of," the tired, waspish words rasped through the air behind Yamamoto.

He span round, wide-eyed and hardly daring to breathe lest the movement of air itself piss Gokudera off even further. The door crept closed behind him.

"Nothing to say, pervert?" his words exploded, one by one, like miniature sticks of dynamite, bitterly hurled. Yamamoto swallowed, then slowly opened his mouth.

"I don't wanna hear it!" he snapped, "whether this is some big, elaborate fucking joke at my expense or you really _do_ just swing your baseball bat that way..." his voice quietened, "nobody – _nobody_ – touches me without permission," his eyes slid shut and he turned his face away.

"Gokudera -" quivered Yamamoto, almost silenced into shadow.

"Don't even think about lying... or explaining... or apologising. Just -" his words stopped like tearing through paper and he curled his body in self-pity and fear.

Suddenly, the silence was broken and a tall shadow was right there, in his face.

"Then, may I have permission?" came the scorching whisper, hot across his face.

No time. The face was too close. Guided by a bump of noses in the dark, the lips found their way and the invalid was swept under by the soft, gentleness of a tongue caressing over his. No, not gentleness – restraint. He could feel the passion boiling underneath, waiting for his say so. _Well, it doesn't count in the dark._ He shed a single tear as the warmth overwhelmed him. As the lips pulled away, Gokudera drifted asleep.

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**A/N:** As always, reviews are gratefully received. Thanks for reading - I hope you are enjoying it so far... :)


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